


A Wish for Silence

by flowerheadfreak



Series: The Gift of Magic [3]
Category: Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-08-11
Updated: 2010-08-11
Packaged: 2017-10-11 01:28:39
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 810
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/106789
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/flowerheadfreak/pseuds/flowerheadfreak
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Warden is having a bad day, and Alistair& Zevran don't make anything easier</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Wish for Silence

**Author's Note:**

> Yes, this is an in-game conversation between Alistair and Zevran :)

Wandering foolishly around the Brecilian Forest looking for a wolf, which would probably look the same as any other, was not what Arabelle had in mind when she promised to aid Zathrian with his werewolf problem.  She could tell that this curse was most likely all his fault, though no one else could, she could see it in his denying eyes, from one talented mage to another.  Why, oh, why couldn’t someone just once say “Sure we’ll help with the Blight, no question, let's go, right now.”?

She pushed through the sticky bushes, stepped in foul smelling bear droppings, and killed those damned sylvans.  What is _wrong_ with these Dalish people?  Sure, she can understand why they’d want to live on their own, away from humans, in fact, she had a wild notion once to run away from the tower and find them, but seriously?  The forests?  Were they so barbaric that can’t even build themselves even a small city?  But no, their silly gods seem to stop them from even kicking a tree, they probably worship them for all she knew, along with their gods,

Although she was the type of person who’d help a helpless soul, Morrigan’s ruthless point of view was making more and more sense every day.  Survival of the fittest, and these people were _definitely_ not fit, with their stupid werewolf problem and what not.

This was enough for her to reveal her hot temper, and so as she treaded on into the forest, she remained silent, and hoped that her companions would show her the same courtesy, she liked them well enough to _try_ to conceal her mood.

She was grateful that Sten was naturally quiet, but alas, Zevran and Alistair picked the wrong time to chat, and what they were talking about did not help Arabelle’s situation.

“So let me ask you something.  What are your intentions with her?” Alistair began, trying to be subtle, but Alistair and subtle just don’t mix, everyone knew who he meant by _her._  The petite mage took in a deep breath, and continued forward, hoping that she could survive their conversation without turning around to yell out and say that she’s standing right there.

“You speak of her as if she is not present.  She is just right over there, you know…” Zevran answered, lowering his tone enough for her to almost not be able to overhear, yet acknowledging her presence.

“Don’t dodge the question.  I’m serious.”

She balled her fists, but she kept walking on, resisting her angry outburst.  Couldn’t they talk about that another time?  She never made her feelings towards them clear, but decided not to pursue the either of them by trying to avoid saying flirtatious comments, but here they persist they see something that’s not quite there. 

Aw, son of a nug hugging whore, she’d stepped in another piece of bear caca. 

“Mmm.  Do I detect a bit of jealousy there?  Feeling territorial are we?”

_I swear I’m gonna find that stupid bear…it’s a big one._

“I am just asking what your intentions are.  You did try to kill us all, remember?”  Alistair said, raising his voice at _kill us all_ as if to remind everyone how dangerous Zevran was.

“And now I owe her a blood debt, as she has spared my life.  It has brought us…closer together.” Zevran grinned.

It was annoying, whenever they referred to her as _her_ and _she_, or _Warden.  _She doesn’t refer to them as assassin or templar-trainee, well not when she’s speaking anyway.__

“Is that a smirk?  Are you smirking at me?”

“I assure you, ser, that I am not smirking.  No smirking here, no,” Zevran said, not even trying to hide an ever growing grin.

“Well, just…watch yourself, then.  I’ll be keeping an eye on you.”

“Are you ladies quite done yet?!”  Arabelle snapped, turning around finally to express her annoyance with them.  Her eyes flashed a certain fire they had never seen her show before, possibly because this day was mixing two things she’d discovered she was remarkably bitter about.-The forests and the affairs of the heart.

Sten was unsurprised and expressionless, solid as a rock as she’d once compared.  Alistair stood bewildered by her sudden outburst, mouth agape. Zevran on the other hand was quick and answered first, striding over at her side.

“Of course, my dear Warden.  We shall be silent now, if you wish, yes?” he nodded, his tone low and enticing, almost mesmerizing her for a second with his striking eye contact, but successfully calming her down.

She was no dwarf…but she was _significantly_ short for an elf.  The tiny Warden stood proudly, with her chin sticking up, trying to be the same height as Zevran, refusing to be distracted.

“_Thank you_,” she said slowly, seriously.  Those were the last words spoken that day.


End file.
